CLAMMY, ruffled and reeking of the public. This was no condition in which to be going on a date.

Thankfully I had prepared for such a situation by putting together an emergency kit of clean clothes and toiletries to ensure I could head off on any social event straight from the office.

I was to meet my hot Australian lady at 7pm in a nearby restaurant I had planned to start my personal grooming at 6pm but as the seconds ticked away I was soon running behind schedule.

Removing my sweaty, tearstained work attire and rinsing my head under the tap I hurriedly slapped some shaving gel against my face and clutched at the razor.

Having the leathery skin of a bullfrog, it has been years since I had to repair my face with those little squares of tissue paper.

I was therefore surprised to feel a sharp pain and realise to my horror I had managed to cut my nostril.

How did this happen? I wasn’t even shaving my nose.

Annoyingly despite it being a small cut it I seemed to be losing pints of blood.

I gingerly put on a new shirt and absent-mindedly applied the deodorant.

This didn’t feel as refreshing as the advert made out and then I realised while trying to protect my shirt from blood splatters I had just blasted my arms pits with a cooling shot of shaving gel.

Having dabbed myself clean I looked at my watch.

Hmmm...it wasn’t yet the kind of emergency that would see my running to the pub but I may have to scamper a little to make up for lost time.

I always ensure I arrive early for a date out of politeness so my companion does not feel awkward.

I tried to work out if my colonial cutie would be more offended by me being late or on time yet covered in blood.

I found myself sat in a restaurant still trying to stem the bleeding, comforting myself that being used to Australian men she would just be grateful I wasn’t belching or asking her to pull my finger.

I thought back to my school days, surely I would have been told if the out lip of the human nostril contained a major artery.

Then my date glided in and gasped: “Oh my God. What has happened to you?”

“What do you mean,” I said trying to act like a blood-soaked tissue was a perfectly normal facial accessory.

I tried to think up some James Bond style adventure but the cut was too small.

Would she believe I had rescued a cat from a burning building and caught my nose on a twig on the way out?

It certainly sounded better than the truth which would imply I was a bleeder, possibly with oddly hairy nostrils.

I broke and told her my tale of woe and with a look of sympathy she dashed off to fetch me some fresh tissue.

I saw a glimmer of hope...sweet pity.

If only I could make her feel sorry enough for me...